


Manly Consolation and Whatnot

by Persiflager



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Sexual Situations, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Episode: s04e16 Trio, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 15:13:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3900904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflager/pseuds/Persiflager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No jerking off,” said Rodney miserably. “Just when I could really use the endorphins.” He drank his beer mournfully in his awkward, two-handed grip before finally giving up, setting it back down on the table and glaring at it as if the bottle was personally responsible for his injuries.</p>
<p>John counted to ten. “I could help with that.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The light was on in Rodney’s quarters when John arrived so he knocked, waited and braced himself. Being injured tended to bring out the worst in Rodney, as did spending time around Carter and any situation in which his actions could be even remotely construed as heroic. This threatened to be something of a perfect storm.

“Oh, hey Sheppard,” said Rodney when he finally answered the door. He had a pink shiny face and wet hair and was wrapped up in his fluffy blue robe. John couldn’t tell if he was wearing anything else underneath. “I’ve been in the tub for nearly an hour and my back’s still killing me,” he said over his shoulder as he turned and headed back into his room. “Sam’s heavier than she looks.”

John followed him inside.

Rodney flopped down on the white Ancient couch and kicked his socked feet up on the glass cube that he was using as a coffee table. The big toe on his left foot poked up forlornly out of a hole.

“How are the hands?” asked John, looking at the layers of large white bandages. It was disconcerting, seeing Rodney’s hands immobilised like that; just that morning he’d tried to steal the fake sausage from John’s plate while sketching out the physics of time dilation with the other.

“Agonising.” Rodney held them in front of his face and glared at them as if he could make them heal by sheer force of will. “They put some magic numbing gel on but it wore off half an hour ago, and I can’t get any more painkillers until morning. Sadists.”

“Hm.” John glanced down at Rodney’s scowl, hunched shoulders and general air of discontent. “I thought you’d be-” He waved one hand in the air. “- smugger. What with having saved the day and all.”

“Ha, well.” Rodney puffed his cheeks and blew the air out, lifted his hands and dropped them. “Did you know that I broke up with Katie Brown?”

John blinked. “Yes?” The lack of announcement, Katie’s ring-less finger and her name on the transfer request list hadn’t boded well; John had been waiting for Rodney to bring it up.

“I didn’t! I thought we were still working things out!” Rodney’s hands twitched in his lap, as if he was having trouble restraining himself from gesticulating wildly. “Jennifer and Sam had to explain it to me, to add insult to very literal injury. Who doesn’t notice breaking up with someone?”

John pulled a face and walked over to the big, unshuttered windows through which the Atlantean sky was black and star-spangled. One of the moons was nearly full and shone a pale light onto the still sea so that the surface gleamed like mercury. 

“Also I think Jennifer’s interested in me, which in the circumstances indicates a degree of optimism that borders on delusional.”

John’s eyebrows rose of their own accord and he turned back into the room to look at Rodney. “Keller?”

“Yes.”

“ _You?_ ”

“Yes!”

“I don’t think she’s the one who’s delusional.”

“Hey!” 

“You want to talk about it?” offered John by way of apology. 

Sliding further down on the couch, Rodney folded his hands on his stomach and hummed thoughtfully. The sides of his robe fell slightly apart, enough so that John could see the pale insides of his thighs. “Yes, actually, it’s just - I don’t know how I feel about it. I’m sad that it didn’t work out - I liked Katie a lot, she was great - but not heartbroken, which in retrospect maybe means that not getting married was the right call. And I haven’t seen her more than in passing for a few weeks now so I think I’ve had enough time to get used to the idea. I feel relieved not to have the situation hanging over my head any more. But mostly - do you have any idea how galling it is? I thought I was making progress - that even if I wasn’t ready to get married just yet, that recognizing that fact was a sign of increasing - maturity? Self-awareness? But no, I’m even more emotionally obtuse than previously posited and I’m probably going to die alone and I don’t even have a cat.”

Rodney sighed and stared morosely into space, presumably contemplating his lonely, cat-less death.

“Want a beer?” said John, already heading over to the kitchenette.

“Yes. Hey, shouldn’t you have brought me some? For manly consolation and whatnot.”

“Sure, because someone who says ‘manly consolation’ is so darn manly.” John fished a couple of bottles out of Rodney’s mini fridge and popped the tops off. He walked back into the living room, set one down in front of Rodney and took up residence on the couch, one arm stretched comfortably along the back. The material was smooth and warm to the touch, like leather that someone else had just been wearing, and moulded itself to your shape if you sat still long enough. “Anyway, you’re not going to die alone.”

“Really?”

“No way you’re not taking a few people with you,” said John, straight-faced.

“Oh, very comforting, Colonel.” Rodney reached out for his beer and hissed before catching the bottle awkwardly between his thumbs and lifting it up to his mouth.

John frowned at him.

“What?” said Rodney when he’d set the bottle back down. “I’m injured, in case you hadn’t noticed.” He held up his hands. “They’re really sore. I’m not going to be able to grip anything for days.” His eyes went wide and he groaned. “Oh _fuck_.”

John raised his eyebrows, tapped his fingers on his thigh and finally took a long, cool drink of his beer. “So,” he said, looking at the table. “No-”

“No jerking off,” said Rodney miserably. “Just when I could really use the endorphins.” He drank his beer mournfully in his awkward, two-handed grip before finally giving up, setting it back down on the table and glaring at it as if the bottle was personally responsible for his injuries.

John counted to ten. “I could help with that.”

Rodney snapped his head round and stared at John with his mouth half-open and his forehead creased.

“If you want,” added John. Figuring that he might as well go for broke, he gave Rodney a quick, sideways glance, looking up through his eyelashes.

“Well _yes_ ,” said Rodney in a rush. “Obviously. Please.” Still staring, he held his muffled hands against his chest as if to clear the route between John and his dick.

John nodded and ignored the free-falling sensation in his stomach. “Cool.” He drained his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, put the bottle down on the table with a clink and shuffled closer. He untied the belt of Rodney’s robe and, heart racing, slipped his hand inside to find that Rodney was wearing Batman boxers. “Keen,” he said, squeezing the solid length of Rodney’s dick through the worn cotton.

“Hey, you offered,” said Rodney, pushing his hips up into John’s hand. “Excuse me for being enthusiastic.” His face was close enough that John could see the delicate lines around his eyes and smell the faint, clean, minty traces of his shampoo.

“Is that what you call it?” Looking down, John pushed his fingers inside Rodney’s boxers and ran them lightly over the loose skin of his balls, exploring. His other arm tightened around Rodney’s shoulders. “Not that I mind enthusiasm,” he said, stroking delicately up and down Rodney’s dick with the tips of his fingers just to feel it twitch and thicken. “Sure, sometimes-”

“ _John_ ,” said Rodney. “Lovely as all this chit-chat is, and I am entirely in favor of you talking dirty to me, if you don’t get on with it soon my dick is actually going to burst through my shorts. I like these shorts.”

“God knows why,” John muttered, but he pulled Rodney’s dick out and wrapped his hand right round it.

A shiver ran through Rodney’s body, from his dick jumping in John’s hands to his mouth falling open in an ‘o’, as if John’s hand had completed an electrical circuit. “Oh,” he said softly. “Oh, I’ve missed this.”

John’s own cock throbbed, jealous and neglected. “You’ve been single for what, a month?” said John, trying to keep his voice steady. Rodney’s cock was thick and hot in his hand. “My heart’s not exactly bleeding for you.”

“You know what I mean.” Rodney looked straight at John with his bright sky-blue eyes so that John felt pinned in place, exposed in all his layers, then he leaned forward and kissed John full on the mouth.

Rodney’s beery tongue in his mouth flicked some sort of switch in John from ‘fooling around’ to ‘sex’. He kissed Rodney back, filthy and wet, and started jerking him properly - tight, fast pulls that got pre-come smeared all over his palm and Rodney thrusting his hips up and saying ‘oh’ and ‘like that’ and ‘please’ until he came gloriously all over John’s hand.

Panting, Rodney sagged bonelessly back against the couch and closed his eyes. “Jeez.” 

John looked round for something to wipe his hands with and settled for wiping the come off on Rodney’s boxers, which were already a lost cause. As he did so, he brushed against Rodney’s softening dick with the back of his hand; it was small and sticky and John suddenly felt inexplicably fond of it. 

“Right,” said Rodney, cracking his eyes open. “I can’t really return the favor but I’m open to suggestions.”

John licked his lips and thought for a moment before making his mind up. “Tell me what you’d do,” he said, unzipping his flies. “If you could use your hands.”

“Oh, everything,” said Rodney, sitting up and leaning closer so that he was pressed against John’s side. “Um, jerk you off, obviously.” He kissed the side of John’s mouth, off-centre and awkward. “I’d like to get my fingers in you. Fist you, maybe, if you could take it.” 

John blinked at that but didn’t slow down. “You want to fist me?” 

“Sure,” said Rodney. “Who wouldn’t?” 

“Well-”

“It’s really perfectly safe if you take the proper-”

“ _Rodney_ ,” said John in a near-whine, poised on the edge and not quite able to get over because he was distracted by the thought of Rodney putting his _entire hand_ up inside John. “Stop talking about fisting and get me off.”

“Oh, right, right.” Rodney shuffled closer. “I just want to screw you,” he confided in a whisper, almost apologetic, his breath hot and damp against John’s ear. “That’s all, really. I don’t need - that thing we just mentioned. A good long screw, just the way you like it. I’d-”

John came with a sharp exhale, hunched over, his back tight as his orgasm slammed through him. “Thanks,” he managed as he uncurled and caught his breath.

“Don’t mention it.”

“You’re not fisting me.”

“You _asked_ ,” said Rodney, pissy and defensive.

John turned his head slowly. He felt loose-limbed and spacey. “Nothing personal. It’s really a general policy.” He thought of saying that if he’d let anyone it would be Rodney, which was true, but Rodney’s hands were pretty big so logistically it would be a challenge and anyway he didn’t want Rodney to get the wrong idea. 

The tension was still visible in Rodney’s body, and the jut of his chin, and the tight line of his mouth. John patted his bare thigh until Rodney relaxed, then pushed himself up off the sofa and made for the bathroom.

When he’d cleaned up, John came out to find Rodney still sitting on the couch, his robe wrapped around him again.

“I’ve had a very strange day,” said Rodney, stifling a yawn.

John nodded. “I’m going to-” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the door.

“Sure.” Rodney watched him go, eyes half-closed, looking sleepy and thoughtful.

The corridors were dim and hushed. John made his way back at a relaxed, not-at-all-suspicious pace and let himself into his quarters. He washed and changed quickly, got into bed, flicked the lights off and lay there in the dark, thinking. 

It had been slightly over two years ago. They’d been playing the civilisation game late one night, blowing off steam after a crappy mission. Rodney had been distracted (which John had taken advantage of to sneak in some weapons development) and after fidgeting for a while had said, “So, I was thinking of asking Dr Brown out”.

“Cool,” John had said, or something like it, most of his attention still on how to get hold of more lumber. Then he’d realized Rodney was still looking at him and added, “Good luck.”

Rodney had seemed relieved. They’d called it a night shortly after, going back to their separate quarters, and what with one thing and another it had been nearly a week until John had figured out that Rodney had meant ‘and therefore we shouldn’t fuck any more’.


	2. Chapter 2

“You are in a good mood today, John,” said Teyla the next morning in the gate room.

John stopped whatever he was doing with his face. “No, I’m not.”

She gave him an odd look. “My apologies, then. I must have been mistaken.”

They stepped through the gate and walked down the dusty track that led to the village visible in the distance. Ronon followed a few paces behind them. The air was still and dry in the midday sun and there was a steady buzz from the cicadas, or whatever the local equivalent was. They were visiting the planet because Teyla had some acquaintance with the inhabitants and wanted to ask if they had heard anything about the missing Athosians. The leads had started slender and were now almost non-existent; John got the impression they were about two missions away from making flyers and posting them across the galaxy - ‘Have you seen these people? Dial 1-800 ATLANTIS now for a reward! No Genii.’.

It was bizarrely quiet without Rodney; John kept getting the urge to look round to see what had happened to him. Teyla would normally be the one to carry the conversation but she strode along in silence, making no concessions to her heavily pregnant state, and John was left alone with his thoughts for all five long kilometers of their journey from the stargate.

The thing with Rodney was long enough ago that the details had gone fuzzy in John’s memory. He thought he remembered most of the times they’d screwed - it hadn’t been often enough to become routine - but the memories were snapshots, divorced from context over years of pulling them out of his memory to jerk off over. He could picture himself fucking Rodney in detail, from the scratchy blanket under his knees to the freckles on Rodney’s back and the soundtrack of Rodney saying ‘ah, careful - wait, yes, like that, _oh_ ’ - but not when it had happened or even whose quarters they’d been in.

John couldn’t even remember how it had started - the first few weeks on Atlantis were kind of a blur. He remembered thinking ‘huh, looks like McKay’s into me’ and ‘yeah, I’d hit that’ and ‘what the hell, we’re probably never going to make it home anyway’. And it must have been him that made the first move because he could remember the look of surprise on Rodney’s face.

He did remember getting annoyed by how careless Rodney could be, flirting over comms and touching John in public and showing up at his quarters late at night without a thought for what it would look like if someone noticed.

“Oh please, as if anyone cares,” Rodney had said once, completely confident as always that anything that wasn’t important to him couldn’t possibly matter. “Are you going to blow me or what?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking not,” John had said, and Rodney had had the gall to look surprised when John showed him the door.

…

By the time they reached the wooden archway that marked the edge of the village, John was sweating like a pig and Teyla’s face was lightly sheened. She stopped still in the center of the arch and waited calmly, John and Ronon taking up flanking positions. After a few minutes, a tall middle-aged woman wearing a loose orange robe emerged from the largest hut and came towards them, hands held out.

“Teyla,” she said, smiling broadly. “It has been too long.”

“Ama.” Teyla took the woman’s hands in her own and lifted them to her forehead.

“Will you break bread with me? Much has happened since I saw you last, and I am anxious to hear of your news.” Ama glanced at John and Ronon. “Your men will be provided for.”

“Thank you,” said Teyla smoothly before John could object. “That would be most kind.” She shot John a brief sideways glance brimming with amusement before following Ama inside.

John and Ronon stood there awkwardly for a moment until a small, scruffy child of indeterminate sex emerged and took them round back to a shaded bower. It wasn’t cool, exactly, but it was a relief to be out of the heat of the sun, especially when the child brought them a pitcher of lukewarm water, half a loaf of slightly stale bread and a small bowl of bruised-looking fruit.

They sat on the severed tree stumps that served as seats and shared the food between them.

“So,” said John after taking a blissful swallow of water. “We’re her men.”

“Looks like.”

“Little rude.”

Ronon shrugged.

“I’m sure Teyla’s setting her straight now. You know, on the command structure and all.”

“Doubt it.” Ronon pulled a knife out of his belt and used it to saw the bread in two before tossing one half over to John with a look that said ‘you have about thirty seconds to start eating before I take that back’.

John ate it. The bread was dense and chewy and the fruit was unexpectedly tart, like a cross between olives and grapes. The faint sound of children’s voices drifted in from the village. 

“How’s McKay doing?” asked Ronon with his mouth full.

“Oh, you know. Bitching and bragging, same as usual.” John popped another fruit in his mouth, savouring the strange juices. “Thinks he has a shot with Keller.”

Ronon tore off another chunk of bread. “Does he?”

John shrugged. “God knows. You know what he’s like with women.” 

“Is he any better with men?” asked Ronon, and John nearly choked on his mouthful of bread.

“Uh,” he said carefully, having safely swallowed his food. “I don’t know.” And then, because he couldn’t leave well enough alone, “You think he’s into guys?”

“Maybe.” Ronon sounded unconcerned. “He checks me out sometimes. A lot of people do that though. Major Lorne keeps asking me to pose for him.”

John resisted the urge to ask if ‘a lot of people’ included him because Ronon was as observant as he was, objectively, good-looking. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s just for his art,” he said instead.

“Ok,” said Ronon equably.

John helped himself to another swallow of water. “How about you?”

“I like women,” said Ronon before frowning. “Things were different on Sateda.” He didn’t elaborate.

There were bread crumbs on John’s pants and his fingers were sticky with juice. He made a half-hearted effort to tidy himself up by brushing at his thighs, which only seemed to succeed at transferring some of the juice onto his pants.

“Was that the problem with your father?” said Ronon suddenly. “He didn’t like that you preferred men?”

It was a good thing that John was already sitting down, otherwise he would probably had fallen over at that. “Jesus,” said John weakly, feeling as though he’d been punched in the stomach.

There was no trace of repentance on Ronon’s face. John should have seen this coming - ever since their trip to Earth Ronon had taken to springing conversational man-traps on him, asking if John had emailed his brother lately and why things didn’t work out with his ex-wife. John couldn’t tell if it was curiosity, concern that John’s emotional state might compromise his position, or something that wasn’t anything to do with him and was all about Ronon’s issues; whatever it was, knowing that Ronon had lost his entire family meant that John couldn’t blow him off without being an asshole.

It was possible that Ronon knew that perfectly well and was taking advantage of it, the sneaky bastard.

“He didn’t know,” said John at last. It wasn’t strictly true – he liked women well enough, better than men in some ways – but the conversation had already gone several light-years beyond his comfort zone.

“Huh. Your brother?”

“Maybe,” John managed. “We don’t-” Know each other that well. “Talk about it.”

“You should.” Ronon scooped up the last of the fruit and shoved them in his mouth before standing up. “We should check out the rest of the village.

“Great idea,” said John, almost dizzy with relief. “Let’s do that.”

…

The sun was red and low on the horizon when Teyla finally emerged and came to find them in the bower. John had spent the afternoon trying to teach the local kids the basic rules of football, which would have gone better if they’d actually had a football to play with and if Ronon hadn’t got fed up and taught them his ass-grabbing game instead.

“I hope that you were not too bored,” said Teyla as they made their way out of the village. She seemed relaxed, if tired; if she’d learned anything useful, she would have mentioned it straight away. “Ama has somewhat … old-fashioned ideas about hospitality.”

“Who, us?” said John, cheerful now that there was a breeze and the air had cooled. “Nah.” Beside him, Ronon snorted.

“It was pleasant to spend time with an old friend,” said Teyla, walking briskly, her steady footsteps sending up clouds of dust from the dry path. “Unfortunately, she did not have any news of my people.”

John exchanged a look with Ronon. “We’ll find them,” he promised.

“Yes,” said Teyla, calm and certain. “We will.”

…

After the Daedalus had showed up that first time, and after things had calmed down, Rodney had caught up with John one day after senior staff. 

“So,” he said, clapping his hands together as they walked to the nearest transporter. “I have the new season of Dr Who and we’re both off-duty tonight. Barring unforeseen crises, do you want to come over? I can grab dinner from the mess.”

John nodded at a passing marine, one of the new arrivals, with his uniform all neat and perfect. He could still feel Caldwell breathing down the back of his neck. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” he said slowly, lowering his voice.

“No, it’s a great idea,” said Rodney, bouncing along. “You, me, food - my three favorite things. I-”

“I said no, McKay,” said John, louder, using his command voice.

“Oh.” Rodney’s face demonstrated exactly why he sucked at poker.

“It’s just-”

“No, it’s ok, I get it. Anyway, I’d better-” Rodney waved his hands in the direction of his lab and took off without waiting for a response.

John had felt bad but there’d been missions to plan and Ford to find and Ronon to settle in, and Rodney had seemed fine the next time they ran into each other so he hadn’t had time to worry about it. 

A week later Rodney had asked Katie Brown out, and that had been that.

…

After he’d showered off the dust of the mission, John got dressed in his off-duty clothes, slipped a flash-drive of old Dr Who episodes into his pocket and headed over to Rodney’s quarters to see if he was up for a late dinner. 

Objectively speaking, starting up again with Rodney probably wasn’t his best idea ever, but it wasn’t his worst either; Rodney was easy, great in bed (especially when he had the full use of his hands), surprisingly low maintenance, and this time around John had the reassurance of knowing that their friendship and working relationship would be fine when it ended. (And it would end – the gap between what Rodney wanted and what John could give him was just too large. But canteen food and British sci-fi were achievable, so canteen food and British sci-fi Rodney was going to get.)

John found the door open and Rodney lying on his bed, talking to the ceiling. He was wearing his boxer shorts and a ratty t-shirt and had his laptop balanced on his stomach.

“Hey,” said John, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Dictation software,” said Rodney happily, not moving a muscle. “I’ve had a fantastically productive day.”

John wandered over to the bed, pushed Rodney’s feet out of the way and perched himself on the edge. He let himself stare openly at Rodney’s long, shapely legs with their dusting of light brown hairs. Now that he’d been reminded of what he’d been trying to ignore for the past two years – that he and Rodney had the option of taking off their clothes and making each other come – he was finding it very difficult to think about anything else.

“Hey, while you’re here you can help me out.” Rodney snapped his laptop shut, pushed it to one side and rolled over onto his stomach with his arms folded under his pillow.

“Um,” said John. Rodney’s shorts had got hiked up in all the wriggling so that John could just see the lower curve of his buttocks. 

“Scratch my back, it’s been bugging me all day.”

John’s facial expression was entirely wasted on Rodney’s oblivious back. “Seriously?”

“I’m not hitting on you,” Rodney clarified. “This is a genuine humanitarian request that falls legitimately within the bounds of our friendship.”

As far as John knew there wasn’t anything that Rodney wasn’t capable of claiming as within the bounds of friendship if he wanted it, but he did tend to be as subtle as a brick wall when making a move so in this case he probably meant it. John sighed heavily in the vain hope that that would say ‘ok, just this once, but this doesn’t make me your personal back-scratching slave’, and shuffled up the bed to just below Rodney’s ass.

“Where?” he said, pushing Rodney’s t-shirt up to reveal an expanse of smooth, pale skin.

“Between my shoulder-blades,” said Rodney. “I think. It’s surprisingly hard to be specific.” He tensed at the first tentative touch of John’s fingertips. “Ah, be gentle?”

“I get it, Rodney.” John curved his right hand so that the fingernails were against skin and dragged them, feather-light, in a straight line down between Rodney’s shoulder-blades. “There?”

“Yes,” said Rodney, his voice muffled by the pillow. “That’s - good. You can go harder.”

John did. With his left hand braced on the bed and Rodney’s hip warm against his thigh, he scratched up and down in long firm lines and then with short cross-hatching movements, covering the area thoroughly until he could see Rodney’s muscles relax and Rodney was murmuring and sighing with happy, breathy sounds of approval.

“Thank you,” said Rodney at last.

“No problem.” John switched to the pads of his fingernails and then to his flat palms, soothing the reddened skin with slow, patient sweeps.

“Okay, now I’m going to hit on you.” Rodney twisted his head round until he was squinting up at John with one eye. “Do you want to have sex? Full disclosure: I still have limited use of my hands and my back can’t handle most positions, so you’d really be doing most of the work again. Within those parameters I’m willing to be flexible.”

John swept his hand down over Rodney’s shorts and up into the hiked-up leg, squeezed a buttock. “How flexible?”

“You want to fuck?” Rodney sounded surprised. “That could work.”

“Sweet.” John withdrew his hand and bent down to take off his boots, then stood up and went to lock the door before stripping off the rest of his clothes. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Rodney watching avidly, face turned against the pillow. He hadn’t had sex like this since he was married - talking about it in advance, getting naked first before they’d even kissed. It was strange and familiar all at once, and both the strangeness and the familiarity were exciting.

He found a space among the detritus on top of Rodney’s dresser to pile his clothes, bending over as he did so to give Rodney something to look at. “You’re kind of a slob,” he said as he sauntered back.

“Yes, well, sue me,” said Rodney, distracted, staring between John’s legs, the attention making John’s dick swell. “I did have six separate baths today because of my back, so I don’t think you’ll find anything to complain about on the personal hygiene front.”

John rooted around in Rodney’s nightstand for supplies, noted with interest that Rodney had bought a new dildo at some point in the last couple of years, tried to ignore the handcuffs, and finally emerged triumphant with a condom and bottle of lube, both of which he chucked onto the bed.

Rodney had watched silently throughout, eyes flickering all over John’s body. John liked it.

“Hey,” he said, putting one knee on the bed, bringing his dick within inches of Rodney’s face. “See something you like?”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “You know you’re hot.”

Bracing one hand on the pillow, John took himself in hand and guided his dick to Rodney’s lips. Rodney opened without hesitation, licked the head, sucked, let John press further in with rocking movements until half his dick was in Rodney’s mouth. John paused there and watched Rodney suck him, felt his cock swell against Rodney’s tongue and the inside of his cheeks and the roof of his mouth. Rodney’s blowjobs had been decent before, albeit with a lot of fussing about his knees, but he’d never been this patient, this passive. John’s heart thundered in his chest.

When at last John pulled back, Rodney blinked up at him with slow, dreamy eyes and shining lips. “I really, really like your dick.”

“I think it likes you too.” John took his erection and his thumping heart back down the bed to Rodney’s chastely covered ass. Kneeling between Rodney’s legs, John pulled the shorts down over Rodney’s buttocks before sliding his hands underneath. “Hup.”

Rodney obligingly lifted himself a fraction of an inch off the bed, just enough for John to get the elastic waistband safely over the head of Rodney’s dick. John pulled his shorts all the way down, shuffling back as he did so until he could finally pull them over Rodney’s feet and fling them over his shoulder.

Rodney’s ass was a peach, a moon, two good firm handfuls of deliciousness. John played with it - stroking, squeezing, pressing biting kisses to the firm flesh - until he could feel Rodney getting antsy. “Alright,” he said with a light slap to Rodney’s left buttock. “Like this? Or do you think you can get your knees under you?”

Rodney wriggled and made a dissatisfied sound. “Maybe if you help lift me.”

“Can do.” John took a firm hold of Rodney’s hips and pulled him up off the bed as Rodney scrabbled to get his legs underneath him. “Now we’re in business.”

The new position spread Rodney’s legs apart, giving John a great view and an all-access pass. He got his fingers lubed up and stroked idly down Rodney’s cleft, dampening and darkening the silky dark hairs until they stuck flat against Rodney’s skin.

Rodney visibly tensed, because apparently he could trust John with his life on a daily basis but he was still kind of a princess about getting fucked. “Ok, look, go slow ok? Because it’s been a-”

“I _know_ , Rodney.” John rubbed the slick pad of his index finger over Rodney’s tight, un-trusting asshole, back and forth, friendly and unhurried. He liked this, always had - it felt more immediate than fucking, dirtier, more intimate. 

“Not that I haven’t - you know, by myself - but-”

“I get it, Rodney. Just relax.”

“Oh, just relax, that’s great advice. Why didn’t I think of that? Because of course it’s just that easy. You know-”

By the time John had worked one finger in, with gentle reassurances and soothing touches, he’d lost his temper and his erection and Rodney was _still talking_.

“For fuck’s sake,” he said, and seriously considered abandoning the whole endeavor. “Stop whining and take it, McKay!” He slapped Rodney on the ass, hard, and his second finger slid in like butter.

“Huh,” he said, looking at it. 

“Shut up,” said Rodney in a small voice, face-down into the pillow.

“So-”

“Shut _up_ ,” groaned Rodney. “It’s not a - thing, ok?”

John considered debating the point because it _really obviously_ was a thing, even if he wasn’t sure exactly what that thing was, but decided instead to focus on the fact that he was touching Rodney inside where he was velvety and hot and vulnerable. He slapped Rodney’s ass again with his free hand, said, “Spread ‘em,” and fingered Rodney vigorously until Rodney was slippery and open and John was achingly hard.

After fumbling the condom on with lube-sticky hands, John slicked himself up and steadied himself with one hand on Rodney’s hip. “You good to go?”

“Yes.”

“Cool,” said John, and he slid in easily, nice and smooth, like they fucked every night and twice on Sundays.

The room was hushed now that they’d stopped talking - just the hum of the ventilation, Rodney’s heavy breathing, soft wet sounds of fucking. Once John got into a rhythm Rodney started rocking back to meet his thrusts, silent with concentration, getting the angle just right with a sharp exhale, which was a good thing because John was far too distracted by his own pleasure to look after Rodney. His hips moved almost of their own volition, chasing the orgasm that he could feel building at the tops of his thighs and the base of his belly, like an electrical charge building up inside him.

“Do you need me to,” he asked, frantic, as sweat trickled down his back.

“No,” said Rodney, hoarse and wobbly, “no, just keep - can you go faster?”

John gritted his teeth and sped up, ignoring the burn in his thighs, until Rodney stiffened and groaned.

“Oh,” he sighed, sagging. “Good.”

John gave a couple of slow, deep thrusts and let his orgasm roll through him, shaking him sweetly from the inside out until his toes curled and his left foot was about to cramp up. He pulled out slowly, disposed of the condom and immediately started pulling his clothes back on. His cock felt over-sensitive and his shirt clung unpleasantly to his sticky back.

“God, how I love the prostate,” said Rodney dreamily as John shoved his feet into his boots. Rodney had slumped back down onto his front, stark naked, one foot hanging off the side of the bed. “Any chance I can persuade you to pull the covers up?”

“I’m not tucking you in.” John sniffed himself and pulled a face. 

“I did let you fuck me.”

“ _Let_ me? I did all the work, you-”

A low, rumbling snore emerged from Rodney’s prone, naked, ungrateful form. John stood still for a moment with his hands on his hips.

“You’re welcome,” he said pointedly, but he tugged the covers up before letting himself out.


	3. Chapter 3

Rodney remained on light duty for another three days, during which John trained jumper pilots and Ronon backed up Lorne’s team and Teyla had long discussions with Carter behind closed doors. Rodney didn’t hit on John or flirt over comms once, though he was cheerfully willing to screw around whenever John showed up at his quarters.

Rodney also spent four hours helping Keller re-program the Ancient medical scanners to identify diseases unique to the Milky Way galaxy.

When Rodney was finally cleared for active duty again Carter sent them on a goodwill mission to P8G-762 where the nice people had a malfunctioning Ancient weather control system. Rodney fixed it, which mostly seemed to involve swearing at the controls and hitting them with a spanner. The delighted Manarans insisted on throwing a party to celebrate. They set up trestle tables outside, lit a huge bonfire, roasted several small, pig-like creatures and broke out an enormous barrel of dark, bitter beer. 

“God, this is good,” said Rodney, nabbing yet another skewer of roast meat off a passing tray. “Every mission should come with barbecue.” His thigh pressed companionably against John’s under the table, just like it would have done when they weren’t fucking.

John tipped his head in agreement, watching the silhouettes of dancers in front of the fire and feeling the rhythm of the music thrum beneath his skin. The air crackled with static electricity and his belly was pleasantly full.

“I’m just here for the beer,” said John before draining his earthenware mug.

“I’ll drink to that.” Rodney did so, taking a long draught, and John watched the working of his throat as he swallowed. Rodney’s lips shone in the firelight. Out of the corner of John’s eye he could see Ronon still eating, surrounded by friendly Manaran women. No-one was paying attention to them.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he said in a low voice.

“Huh?”

John slipped one hand underneath the table and squeezed Rodney’s thigh. Rodney dropped his mug on the table and the last of his beer spilled out in a dark, sticky, malty puddle.

“Oh!” he said, eyes wide. “Right. Sure, yes, definitely-”

John stood up and walked away, not drawing any attention, making a straight line for the guest hut they were sharing with Ronon. Behind him he could hear Rodney clattering and undoubtedly undoing all John’s good stealth, but his blood was throbbing with music and beer and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

As soon as Rodney was inside, John shut the door and pushed Rodney up against it.

“Hey,” he said, sticking his hands down the back of Rodney’s pants and nosing at his neck. He smelled like sun-cream and fresh sweat and wood-smoke.

“Hey yourself.” Rodney grabbed John’s hips and pulled him even closer, until he could feel Rodney’s erection against his own, and Rodney was sending some seriously mixed signals because the next thing out of his mouth was: “Listen, and this should not in any way be taken as an objection, but weren’t you the one who ruled out screwing on missions?”

“Hm.” John pressed a messy, open-mouthed kiss against Rodney’s jaw, the stubble rough against his lips. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Ok then. Take this off,” said Rodney, tugging John’s shirt out of his pants, and John was about to comply when there was a knock at the door and they both froze. 

“Sheppard?” came Ronon’s voice. 

“Kinda busy here,” said John. Rodney’s eyes were pale in the darkness, his hands still clutching John’s shirt.

“I need to talk to you. Let me in or I’ll break down the door.”

“Wait, wait.” John mouthed ‘sorry’ at Rodney, who flung his hands up in annoyance and went to sit on one of the beds. John unlocked the door.

“Hey buddy,” said John as Ronon entered the hut. “Good to see you. What’s up?”

“You feeling ok?” asked Ronon, holding up a lantern and peering down at John’s face.

“Yes. Why?” 

Ronon looked over at Rodney, then back at John. “The beer. The women told me it’s special, used for celebrations.” A slight expression of discomfort crossed Ronon’s face. “It’s … kind of an aphrodisiac.”

“Thanks for warning us,” said John, smiling tightly. “Good thinking. Why don’t you go and thank the nice ladies for us?”

“I don’t - I don’t know them,” said Ronon. “I don’t want to-”

“Of course you don’t.” John looked along the hut at the six narrow single beds, and at where Rodney was sitting with his head in his hands. “Well, I guess we’d all better get some sleep then.”

…

John lay in the darkness, listening to what sounded like every adult Manaran in the settlement ‘celebrating’ and cursing the lack of soundproofing in wattle-and-daub huts. He felt desperately, recklessly horny, arousal fizzing under his skin like freshly poured champagne, his erection rubbing uncomfortably against his fly. He clenched his fingers in the roughly woven blanket and tried to think about inventory.

“I still don’t see why not,” whispered Rodney from two beds along. “For the record, I feel in full control of my faculties.”

“For the last time, I am not having sex with you on a mission while under the influence of alien viagra.” 

“Who said I was talking about you, Colonel Ego? For the record I would be just as happy to do Ronon,” said Rodney, his voice high-pitched and panicky. “I would very happily suck Ronon’s dick. No offence, Ronon.”

“Whatever,” said Ronon, occupying the neutral ground of the middle bed.

John took a deep breath and released it, holding onto his self-control by the narrowest of margins. “ _No._ Just drop it, ok?”

“Fine.”

Rodney settled down with a sigh and the hut was quiet for a few minutes until John became aware of a faint, rhythmic, familiar sound. 

“Ok, that’s it, if Ronon’s jerking off then I am too,” said Rodney, adding a rustling noise to the mix. “For the record, this is the most disappointing orgy I’ve ever been involved in, and I’ve attempted group sex in Siberia.”

John groaned. “Knock it off, would you?”

“Can’t sleep like this,” said Ronon, not sounding even slightly embarrassed. 

John squeezed his eyes shut and tried really, really hard not to turn the sounds he was hearing into images; Ronon on his back, stroking himself without shame, Rodney curled over on his side, getting himself off with quick, furtive -

“Fine,” said John, undoing his fly and taking hold of himself. “Are you happy now?”

“Delighted,” said Rodney, breathing heavily. They all were. “So glad you could join us. You know, this is why people call you Colonel Cock-Block.”

John nearly wept with relief at the feeling of his hand, tight and wonderful, his thumb rubbing sweetly over the head. “Nobody calls me that.”

“I call you that.”

“You call me a lot of things!”

“Stop talking,” said Ronon. 

“I’m honestly not sure that I can,” said Rodney, sounding miserable. “That beer really did a number on my inhibitions. I have this overwhelming urge to tell you both how much I love you, and if I don’t find something else to talk about soon I’m going to end up telling you in explicit detail exactly how I’d like to fuck you.”

Thunder crashed overhead, as loud as if the sky was made of clay and had just cracked in half.

“Yeah,” said John when the thunder had stopped. “You could. If you want.”

“Yeah?” panted Rodney. “Ronon? Promise you’re not going to freak out and hit me in the morning?”

“Better than you complaining,” said Ronon. 

“Great.” Rodney took a couple of deep breaths. “Ok. Ok. So, assuming that you’d decided to take a walk on the heteroflexible side and Sheppard wasn’t being a complete buzzkill, I’d want you both to take off all your clothes and turn the light on. I mean, what’s the point of all that exercise if someone doesn’t get to appreciate it?”

“It’s-“

“Yes, thank you, I was being rhetorical. Ok, so when I was done ogling I think I’d like to watch Sheppard suck your dick.”

John’s face burned. It wasn’t that he’d never thought of Ronon in that way before because he had (occasionally, guiltily, in passing). But now he was picturing it in detail, and wanting it, and Ronon wasn’t raising any objections. John pushed back the blankets so that there was nothing between him and the sultry air of the hut. If someone turned on a light, they’d be able to see everything. 

“You’d look good,” Rodney went on, more confident now, “the two of you together. All sweaty and muscled and masculine in a very conventional manner, like you’d just finished one of your ridiculous sparring sessions and decided to celebrate with blowjobs. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for originality in the bedroom, but there’s something about the classics that’s just, you know, nice. And a big cock in a pretty mouth is pretty much timeless.”

John licked his lips and opened his mouth wide, imagining the stretch. He could smell the soot from the lamps and the taste of tin tingled in his mouth.

“Now, as for me. By now I’ve got tired of watching so I get up on the bed behind John. You’re looking really slutty, with your legs spread wide and your ass up in the air, so I tell you what a slut you are and then I finger you until you cry.”

John swallowed hard, humiliation and arousal thick in his throat.

“Cry in a good way,” Rodney clarified. “Like begging. And I mean slutty as a compliment.” He paused. “Where was I? Oh right. Then I’d, well, I’d fuck you. You’d have a dick in your mouth and one in your ass and you’d love it.”

John really would. He couldn’t think of anything he’d like better. He could picture it so clearly it was almost real - he could feel Ronon’s hands in his hair, Rodney’s thighs slapping against his. He wanted to get on his hands and knees and act it out, and he wanted Rodney to keep talking. He spread his legs and slipped his left hand back behind his balls, stroking around and pressing in a little, just enough to make him want it.

“I’d like it too, obviously; I wouldn’t last five seconds but for the sake of this fantasy let’s pretend I’m some sort of porn star and can go forever.”

Ronon’s breathing was loud, audible over the creaking of the beds and the slick, muffled sounds of all three of them jerking off. John thrust upwards, shamelessly fucking into his hand, and the hot, shivery feeling of his impending orgasm was suddenly overtaken by the rush of words into his throat. He wanted to tell Rodney everything; things he didn’t even know himself yet were sitting heavy on his tongue, desperate to be told. With a sob John dragged his left hand back up and crammed it sideways into his mouth.

“Yeah,” said Rodney, panting now and sounding as desperate as John felt. “Oh god. I’d fuck so hard. Or you could sit on Ronon’s dick, so I could watch, and touch you, and-“

John’s heels dug into the bed and his back bowed as he came with a groan, pleasure thudding through him like an electric shock at the thought of Rodney’s hands on him.

He lay there in the dark, keeping one hand in his mouth and breathing through his nose and feeling twitchy sparks of aftershock run through him. Rodney kept talking, frantic now, spilling a barely-coherent stream of words about getting his cock in John’s ass next to Ronon’s.

Feeling fuzzy-headed and wrung-out, John decided to take Rodney’s obsession with his ass as a compliment. He was fond of Rodney’s ass too, although that mostly expressed itself in a desire to stroke it and squeeze it and do nice things to it. 

“Ah!” yelled Rodney. “Ah, fuck.” He heaved in deep breaths, swearing under his breath, post-orgasmic and apparently angry about it. Ronon was silent now, presumably having achieved his own orgasm with slightly less fuss.

The thunder boomed again, rolling threateningly across the ceiling. There was a loud crack and rain started thudding down onto the roof, fitful at first and then in a relentless torrent. It was loud, completely overpowering any sounds in the hut, and John felt as if he was alone for the first time that evening.

He didn’t like it.

Biting his hand was getting uncomfortable so John stopped, dropping his hand down to the mattress and flexing it. The flow of words seemed to have dried up. He could still feel them there, at the back of his throat, but the pressure was gone. He swallowed them down.

John could feel tiredness welling up in him, but a restless impulse made him climb out of bed. He pulled his shirt over his head, wiped clumsily at his hand and stomach, and made his slow, shuffling way across the floor in the dark.

“Wha,” mumbled Rodney as John dropped his pants on the floor before climbing into his bed. “John?”

“Ssh.” John pulled the blankets up over them and curled round Rodney, one arm loosely around his waist. Rodney only had his t-shirt and boxer shorts on so John tangled his naked legs together with Rodney’s, skin on skin. They’d shared beds on missions, fully dressed and back to back and in the same room as Ronon and Teyla, and fallen asleep on each other’s shoulders more times than he could count, but John had always wanted to know what it would be like to sleep together like this.

“Why are you in my bed?” whispered Rodney.

John considered the question. “Because I bit my hand and didn’t have sex with you.”

“Oh,” said Rodney, yawning. “Ok.” He wrapped one arm round John’s shoulders and pulled him closer so that John’s head was resting on his broad, comfortable chest. “Night.” He pressed a sleepy kiss to the top of John’s head.

“Night,” said John, and he fell asleep listening to the drumming of the rain.

…

John yawned. He felt well-rested and sweaty. He stretched, rolled over and-

There was a loud thump as Rodney fell on the floor, cursing.

John frowned and cracked his eyes open to see Rodney sitting on the floor and looking startled in the diffuse, pearly morning light. The air felt damp and fresh.

“You ok?” 

“No thanks to you,” said Rodney, rubbing his hip and glaring at John. Then he blinked and looked past John. “Ah.” He placed one hand protectively over his crotch. “Good morning, Ronon. Did you sleep well? Please don’t hit me.”

“I’m not going to hit you,” said Ronon.

“Well, good,” said Rodney. “Not only am I essential to this expedition but violence is a terrible way of solving awkward situations, and clearly no-one should be held accountable for things that they may or may not have said while under the influence of-“

“I already said I wasn’t going to hit you-“

John found his clothes on the floor, got dressed and tip-toed outside while they were still arguing.

The landscape was beautiful in the aftermath of rain – purple-grey hills like puffs of smoke, gleaming grass and trees, light from the newly risen sun reflecting off every smooth surface. By the door someone had left a clay bottle that was warm to the touch. John pulled out the stopper and smelled the rich, floral scent of the local tea. He leaned against the cool plaster wall of the hut while he sipped and thought and watched the world wake up.

By the time he’d drunk what felt like a third of the bottle the noises behind him had stopped, so he went back inside to make sure Rodney and Ronon hadn’t killed each other. Ronon seemed fine. Rodney was twitchy, his gaze alternately resting on John when he thought John wasn’t paying attention and skittering away whenever John tried to make eye contact. They shared the tea, washed up using the cold rainwater from the butt outside and set off for the gate. Rodney strode ahead, head down and muttering at his scanner, and John let him.

“So,” said John once they were clear of the village and Rodney was far enough away not to hear their conversation. “Last night was weird.”

A small brown lizard dashed across the rapidly drying path. High up in the sky a bird of prey whirled on a thermal.

“It was ok,” said Ronon, which, given Ronon’s range of traumatic experiences, didn’t say a lot - ‘ok’ could mean anything from ‘genuinely fine’ to ‘eh, at least nobody died’. “I’m not - into either of you, that way, though.” 

John nodded and scratched the back of his head. “You know that I don’t actually want to-“

“Whatever.” Ronon looked ahead to where Rodney was standing on the top of a small hill and waving his arms about in his own personal form of semaphore. “You going to talk to McKay?”

“When he’s calmed down.” John gave it twenty-four hours, tops, before Rodney cornered him, by which time he might have worked out what he wanted to say.

“I didn’t know you two were fucking.”

John pulled a face. “Sometimes. It - it’s not a big thing.”

“Right.” Ronon gave John a considering look, then lunged sideways, grabbed him round the waist, and _picked him up_ in the tightest, scariest hug that John had ever had inflicted on him.

“Ok?” said John when his feet hit the ground again.

Ronon beamed at him, then gripped John’s face in his hands and planted a great big smacking kiss right on his lips before letting him go and racing up the hill.

John watched as Rodney turned, saw Ronon, jumped, started to run, was tackled to the ground and struggled ineptly, legs up in the air like an upside-down turtle. As John caught up with them Ronon finally managed to land a kiss on Rodney’s temple, then cuffed him round the ear and let go.

“What the fuck!” yelled Rodney, red-faced and muddy and outraged. John felt a surge of love for them both in that moment, along with a sudden, overwhelming jealousy of Ronon’s easy expression of affection. He wanted to outrage Rodney himself, every hour of every day, saying with his hands what he couldn’t say in words.

Ronon just grinned toothily until Rodney got back on his feet and set off once more for the gate, still muttering.

“You have strange taste in men,” said Ronon when John caught up with him.

“I really do,” said John, marvelling.

…

Rodney lasted less than an hour after they got back before dragging John into a supply closet. It was small, filled with crates so that there was barely room for the two of them to stand, and lit by a bright electric light.

“We need to talk,” said Rodney, his chin pushed up the way it always was when he was determined to say something that he knew John wouldn’t agree with.

“Ok.” John touched his radio. “Lorne, apparently McKay needs to talk to me, so I’m going to be late. Go ahead and start the drills without me.”

“Roger that. Let me know if you need rescuing.”

“Will do.” John clicked the radio off. “Ok, go ahead.” He was surprised to find that his hands were sweaty. He put them in his pockets, then changed his mind and pulled them out again.

Rodney was staring at him with a curious expression. “You, ah, used to be more careful than that,” he said, gesturing at his own earpiece.

“Lorne’s known us both for more than three years,” said John. “He didn’t say anything when he found us asleep together in the rec room that time, I doubt he’s going to say anything now. I trust him.” John cleared his throat. “Last time I had Caldwell gunning for my job, a bunch of new soldiers who knew nothing about me but my reputation which - wasn’t great, then. Elizabeth had just got me promoted which not everyone at the SGC agreed with - the situation was different.”

“Huh.” Rodney nodded several times, his train of thought apparently de-railed by information that John would have thought was fairly obvious. “So, is Ronon ok? With-”

“Yeah, I think so,” said John. He didn’t think that was what Rodney had originally planned to say. 

“Right, good. Do you think he’d-”

“No.”

“Right, okay, fine.” Rodney nodded a few times, clapped his hands together and stared at the wall behind John’s head.

John leaned back against the wall, and kicked his foot up. “How’s Keller?”

Rodney blinked at that. “Fine, I think. Why?”

“You like her?”

“Sure, what’s not to like? She’s hot, smart and she likes me, which are three excellent qualities in a person. I mean, the medicine thing isn’t really proper science as such, but it certainly seems to be useful knowledge-”

John nodded. His jaw felt tight.

Rodney looked at him. “You know it’s not serious, right? We just went on one date. She went on a date with Corporal Mizrahi last night. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t say no if I asked her out again, but I don’t think she’ll be crying into her stethoscope if I don’t.”

John gave a one-shouldered shrug.

Rodney studied him for a few seconds before dropping his shoulders and standing up straight. “Ok, here’s the thing. Do you know why I didn’t propose to Katie?”

John shook his head.

“I didn’t even realize it myself until I was saying it. I didn’t propose to her, and in retrospect broke up with her, because I didn’t think I’d be able to make her happy. I thought that if we got married it would be great for me but she’d be miserable. She was everything I thought I wanted, and it wasn’t enough.”

Rodney took a step forward, putting himself right in John’s personal space. “John. I know this sounds unlikely but I really think I can make you happy. I want to do that.”

John looked at Rodney’s serious, earnest expression. “Rodney,” he said slowly, “are you proposing?”

“What?” said Rodney, stepping back. “No! Why would you - ok, replaying what I just said I can see how you might come to that conclusion. Wow, I really am bad at this. No, not proposing marriage, but proposing … something. Dating, a relationship, going steady, whatever.”

John took a moment to appreciate the fact that he was seriously considering a committed relationship with a forty-year-old man who unironically said ‘going steady’. “This isn’t what you want.”

Rodney’s chin came up again and he held one fist in the air. “Hot,” he said, pointing at John with one finger. “Smart. Interested in me.” He held the three fingers up in the air for a few moments before sagging and putting his hands in his pockets. “Look, I’m easy, you know that. Have sex with me, sleep over sometimes, cut me some slack if I try to hold your hand in life or death situations. That’s not the question. The question is - what do you want, John?”

His gaze was steady and open and sure. John swallowed. Neither of them moved.

“I don’t know,” said John at last. “But that - what you said. Sounds good.”

“I can work with that,” said Rodney, pointing a finger-gun at John.

They stared at each like a pair of certified morons until Rodney’s radio crackled.

“McKay,” he snapped. “What? Why would you - well, that was a stupid idea. No, no, don’t touch anything, I’ll be there in a minute. McKay out.” He looked at John and gestured at the door. “I should-”

“Wait,” said John, pushing himself off the wall and grabbing Rodney’s hand. It was warm and large, with a smudge of oil on the back and a swathe of pink, shiny new skin across the palm. John held it in his hand for a moment, rubbing his thumb from Rodney’s wrist up to the base of his fingers and back again, then squeezed it tight.

Rodney’s grin was blinding. “Life or death?”

“Always is.” John used his grip on Rodney’s hand to yank his forward and steal a quick, hard kiss. Then he let go, opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.

When John looked back Rodney was standing in the exact same spot looking equal parts shocked, pleased and cross, and John honestly couldn’t decide which one he liked best.


End file.
